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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674743">Mittens</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl'>madrabbitgirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Slice of Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All Night Diner, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Flirting, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mittens the Snake, Pure unadulterated plotless fluff, diner au, possibly american au, waiter Aziraphale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:07:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is doing a favor for a friend that takes him to a cute old-timey diner in the middle of the night, where he meets the sweetest server he's ever seen. </p><p> <br/><i>Purely fluff piece based on the 24 hour diner prompt floating around Tumblr.  I'm hoping to do 24 Diner fluffs but we'll see how far I get before I get bored. </i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Slice of Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mittens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMags/gifts">MadMags</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Why was everything always damp in the middle of the night? Crowley pondered this as he took a drag from his cigarette, smoke pluming out of his nostrils as he exhaled. The blue bakelite handle of the seventies-style bowling ball bag in his hand creaked with the weight of what it held. With another drag, another plume of smoke, and a heavy sigh, he continued walking, admiring the wet sheen on the dark street. He liked this time of night, though. The world seemed devoid of people, with both sidewalks and streets remaining completely empty as he walked. The emptiness suited him just fine because he didn’t usually need company. </p><p>In the distance, he could see the neon pink lights of a diner, shining like a beacon in the night.</p><p>He could do with a strong cup of diner coffee while he did his little job. </p><p>The sides of the building were a shiny silver tone, reflecting the light of the “Open 24 Hours” sign. The letters were parallel lines of blue and pink, with neon angel wings perched over the twenty-four. A bell rang out as he pushed his way in, taking great pains not to knock the vinyl bag into anything as he went. The floors were predictably checkered in black and white tiles and the walls were a pepto-pink. The booths shone with a glittery teal vinyl and chrome accents with matching stools waiting empty at the counter. The parts of the walls which were not covered in pink paint were stuffed with frames of vintage Hollywood stars and autographed celebrity pictures. It looked like the kind of place you could still order a malted shake. </p><p>“Be with you in a moment!” a light, musical voice called out from what Crowley assumed was the direction of the kitchen. At almost four in the morning, he wasn’t surprised that he was pretty much the only person in the place. </p><p>Crowley settled at the counter, calling back, “No rush.” </p><p>He settled the bowling bag on the ledge under the counter and curled in on himself as he sat, hunching over and folding his arms on the countertop. There was a laminated menu wedged between a large sugar container and a metal box of napkins, and he picked it up to peruse the offerings. As predicted, there were malted milkshakes on the back.</p><p>Crowley wasn’t really hungry, but the photos of burgers and fries combined with the lingering smell of greasy food in the air did make him consider ordering something. He noticed the bowling bag at his feet twitch out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Don’t,” he threatened quietly, lowering his sunglasses to glare down at it until it stopped. He pushed the specs back into place.</p><p>“Don’t what?” </p><p>Crowley looked up and he felt his breath catch in his chest, mouth going just a bit dry. The man that stood before him was an absolute angel. His eyes, which Crowley was sure were blue, twinkled brightly despite the late hour. He was dressed head to toe in white, which would have been a poor choice for anyone in the restaurant industry that wasn’t a cook, but he was somehow pristine in his appearance. He wore a tartan bow-tie with his button-up shirt and a ridiculously old-fashioned paper hat perched on his nearly white curls. The hat sat at a jaunty angle that only added to the overall mirthful aura he seemed to project. </p><p>“Ahh, noth-nothing,” Crowley stammered, momentarily stunned by the cutie before him. He swallowed, glancing down at the menu in an excuse not to continue to stare like the freak that he was at this handsome sweetheart. </p><p>“Well, welcome to Curl Up and Pie. Is there something particular you fancy? We serve our menu at all times,” the man said brightly. “Breakfast, lunch and din-” </p><p>“Coffee,” Crowley interrupted, risking a glance back up. He felt his cheeks heat up as he met the kind eyes of the stranger. He quickly looked away again, taking the opportunity to stuff the menu back in between the napkins and the sugar. “Black.” </p><p>“Oh! Did you need a few more minutes to decide, perhaps? I can come back,” the angelic man asked him, brows twitching upwards, probably in surprise at Crowley’s terse tone. Crowley shook his head. </p><p>“Nah. Just the coffee,” he replied. He thanked whatever God there might have been that he was wearing sunglasses because he just couldn’t stop staring at him. Of course, had he been able to rip his eyes away from the man in white, he might have noticed the bowling ball bag at his feet beginning to twitch. The zipper of the bag, which probably should have been more securely closed, was open just enough that a small nose started to peep through. A forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. </p><p>“Surely, my dear, you must want something else. Some eggs, perhaps?” the man insisted, his hands fluttering nervously. His fingers twisted together as he spoke. “Black coffee on an empty stomach couldn’t possibly be pleasant.” </p><p>Crowley snorted, although his insides did a funny flip at the ‘my dear’. “Do you bully all of your customers like this? Or do you have some personal objection to serving coffee only?” </p><p>A long body slithered its way out of the bag while they bickered, wiggling along the ledge under the counter until it disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. </p><p>“I’m sure that black coffee on an empty stomach at this time of night is likely to be very uncomfortable, and we do have such a nice selection of desserts, if you’re not in the mood for a full meal.” The angelic man smiled condescendingly at Crowley, and in that instant the redhead knew he was in love. How patronizing could be adorable, he’d never know, but it absolutely was when worn on the cherubic-round features of this man. He didn’t even know the guy’s name! </p><p>“What’s the time of day got to do with anything?” Crowley asked, hiding his teasing behind a gruff, judgemental tone. He couldn’t hide the growing smirk on his lips, or the way the tension in his shoulders was ever-so-slightly relaxing. Just as the angel was about to answer, there was a very loud crash from the direction of the kitchen. Crowley quirked a brow at his flustered server. </p><p>“Excuse me. We have- well, our usual cook called out and the one covering is, shall we say, less experienced. I’ll return with your coffee in a jiff!” The white-haired man darted towards the back as another loud crash rang out, not noticing how Crowley had tipped his head to the side to admire the shapely back-end on the man as he went. </p><p>Crowley pulled out his phone to check for a text, but there was nothing. He opened up a random game and started to play. After a few moments, the noises in the kitchen quieted down and the angel-man was back with a large white mug of coffee. He sat it down in front of Crowley with another smile. Crowley glanced up, gave him a minor twitch of the lip that seemed some approximation of a smile, and picked up his mug. </p><p>“I didn’t introduce myself before. I’m Aziraphale, and I’ll be taking care of you.” </p><p><i>If only,</i> Crowley thought, taking a sip and instantly regretting it as his tongue got scorched. “Aziraphale? That’s quite a handle.” </p><p>“Ah. Well. We make do with what we’re given, don’t we?” Aziraphale replied. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? Perhaps some eggs?” </p><p>“I’m fine, angel,” Crowley insisted. He almost choked on his own tongue when he realized what he’d just called the man. Out Loud. “I- I mean, errr-” </p><p>Aziraphale chuckled, waving his hand. “It’s fine. I’m no stranger to nicknames. Just not ‘sunshine’ or ‘Zira’ or some other hideous shortening of my name, if you please.” </p><p>As he spoke, the bell above the door jingled again, announcing the arrival of two young women who positively reeked of alcohol. Between their clingy, spangled dresses and smeared lipstick, it seemed they’d had a fantastic night out. Aziraphale winked playfully at Crowley before going to greet them, leaving him to gulp at his coffee. He took out his phone and stabbed at the screen for a while before abandoning it in an attempt to spy on Aziraphale in the shiny chrome surfaces surrounding him. </p><p>There was another loud crash from the kitchen.</p><p>Crowley frowned and he turned to watch the angel give the girls a fluorescent-bright smile, calling, “Be right back!” </p><p>Crowley returned to glaring at his screen. He was waiting for a text, just one stupid text, that would tell him it was all clear and he could go, but- </p><p>“Alright, what about pie?” Aziraphale tried again. Crowley hadn’t even heard him approach, but there was his server back behind the counter once more, a shiny white plate in his hand with a slab of very decadent-looking apple pie on it. “I know you said no, but perhaps a slice of our famous pie? On the house, of course.” </p><p>“Do you have a quota of some kind?” Crowley asked, his eyebrows riding up to almost meet his hairline. Aziraphale just blinked innocently, sitting the pie on the countertop. </p><p>“Not at all,” he murmured sheepishly. “Perhaps I just wanted an excuse to come over and speak with you. We don’t get too many people in at four o’clock in the morning and you’re very, well. If you must know, a bit of the definition of ‘tall, dark and handsome’. But you’re covering your face with those glasses, and what if you’re trying to cause some kind of trouble?” </p><p>“Ginger, bitchy and a bit too skinny, more like. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just doin’ a favor for a friend,” Crowley said. Since it was on the house, he slid the pie towards himself and picked up the neatly rolled silverware that seemed to appear at his side. He stabbed the piece but didn’t really bring the bite anywhere close to his mouth. Rather, he seemed more inclined to just push it around his plate. </p><p>“Don’t play with your food,” the angel chided, leaning forward on the counter. “What sort of friends ask you for favors at this time of night?” </p><p>“Probably not <i>your</i> sort,” Crowley said. He picked up the bite of apple pie with his fork and took a bite. “What do you have against this time of day? You keep mentioning it.” </p><p>“Nothing, I’m sure, but I’m told other people find it unusual to be awake this late. Or early, I suppose,” Aziraphale replied thoughtfully. He stood back up and began tidying, as if reminded that he was meant to be on the clock. Crowley smirked, picking up another miniscule bite of pie. This man was fucking adorable. </p><p>Just as he was about to open his mouth to continue the conversation, and hopefully not make an ass of himself by saying out loud how cute he thought the guy was, there was another loud bang from the back, followed by the door to the kitchen swinging open. A nervous, tall, gangly man appeared at Aziraphale’s shoulder, breathing quite heavily. </p><p>“Ah-ahh, Aziraphale, I- You see, there’s um- And it’s quite-” </p><p>“Newton! You’re meant to be cooking for those young ladies. You can’t just leave food on the stove-” </p><p>“But Aziraphale!” </p><p>“No, no, back into the kitchen with you,” Aziraphale said, shoo-ing the young man away. The kid was clearly scared of something, probably his own shadow, but that wasn’t any of Crowley’s business. Aziraphale gave Crowley an apologetic glance. “I do apologize. He’s usually out here with me but the cook that was scheduled called out. He’s really quite good, he just needs some practice.” </p><p>“Yyyeah.” Crowley abandoned his fork and picked up his phone once more. There was the text he was waiting for, and he grimaced, sliding the phone into his pocket. “Look, angel, I’ve got to run. Do you work night shift a lot?” </p><p>One of the girls in the spangly dresses was tottering over to them on drunken legs and too-tall platforms. </p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, watching Crowley drain the last of his coffee. “Nearly every night. No one else likes this shift.” </p><p>“Nice. Maybe I’ll see you ‘round then,” Crowley said. He reached down and nabbed his bowling bag, heading for the door. He could hear the drunk girl complaining as he went.</p><p>“There’ssh- Shhh, um, there’s something wrong with your jukebox?” she said and he caught her out of the corner of his eye tugging at Aziraphale to follow her. “Somethingss in there, I think.” </p><p>He smirked and pushed his way out of the restaurant, delighted over the chance meeting with the cute angel. Maybe Beez would need another favor and he’d find himself there again at this time of night. Speaking of Beez, the bag felt a little light. He looked down and noticed the open zipper. </p><p>“Shit!” Crowley hissed, looking into the bag to see only a bowling ball. “Oh, for Satan’s sake, Mittens.” </p><p>With a heavy sigh, he headed back towards the diner.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! Please consider reading some of my other works.</p><p>Find me on <a href="https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com"> Tumblr </a><br/>or on my <a href="https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html"> My Blog </a></p><p>The original prompt was something like: "for fans of the coffeeshop au, i present the concept of: 24 Hour Diner AU. most plot action happens around 4am. there is always something vaguely eldritch going on in the background, no matter the writer’s intentions. always. the actual fic is pure plotless fluff. the protagonists are too wrapped up in their relationship anxieties to notice the minor character summoning/defeating cthulhu in the background" (Credit, I believe, goes to biggest-gaudiest-patronuses)</p><p>FUN FACTS: My mom had a friend who brought his snake (Renegade) to the bowling alley in the 70s in his bowling bag. My friend, who suggested the name Mittens, had a snake named Mittens who did sometimes escape into her record player, which is how this Mittens ended up in the jukebox.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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